‘I could not sleep. I thought a walk around the block would settle me.’
‘And did it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I am glad. However, I must tell you that your pacing kept me awake.’
‘I’m sorry. I thought you were already asleep. It was very quiet in your room. But that perhaps should have alerted me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I should have known you were awake because I could not hear you snoring.’
‘I do not snore. Zakhar was the one that snored.’
‘I must inform you, Porfiry Petrovich, that you do.’ Slava’s smile was retaliative. ‘Furthermore, your logic is at fault. The presence of one snoring man within a household does not preclude another — or indeed, any number of others.’
Porfiry was denied the opportunity of replying by the eruption of shouts from the main hall of the police bureau. The commotion seemed to be rolling towards him like a thundercloud borne on fast-moving air currents. The door burst open and Nikodim Fomich rushed in, immediately followed by Virginsky.
‘Porfiry Petrovich, something extraordinary has turned up.’ Excitement raised Nikodim Fomich’s voice to a shout. ‘You must come!’
‘What? What is this?’
‘Outside. You must see for yourself.’
Behind Nikodim Fomich, Virginsky nodded his head energetically in affirmation. Porfiry cast an uncertain glance towards Slava, only to be met with a blank, uncomprehending stare. Slava seemed to be as much in the dark as he was.
Porfiry touched his desk with the pads of all his fingers, as though to push himself to his feet.
*
‘Daring! Most daring! To do it in broad daylight. And here, outside a police station.’
‘Do we know how it got here?’
‘A peasant’s cart was driven past. At a fair lick, by all accounts. According to witnesses.’
‘There were witnesses?’
‘Yes. A number, including some of our men. They saw two men in the back of the cart.’
‘Do we have descriptions?’
‘Their faces were covered with mufflers.’
‘I see. How were they dressed?’
‘They were dressed flashily.’
‘Flashily?’
‘One in a ginger suit, the other was in green. As criminals are wont to do.’
‘Our criminals wear only green or ginger suits? That is indeed considerate of them. It should certainly make our investigative work easier. I wonder that we have any unsolved crimes on our books when all we need do is round up all those in green or ginger suits.’
‘Don’t be obtuse, Porfiry Petrovich. You know very well, there is a class of criminal who takes pleasure in affecting a certain dandyism. They are the peacocks of the underworld. They may not always wear green or ginger suits, but they do favour sartorial ostentation.’
‘And the driver?’
‘The driver was in peasant’s garb. A kaftan over a belted smock.’
‘Was he masked too?’
‘We may presume so.’
‘Presume? My dear Nikodim Fomich, I do not wish to presume anything.’
‘His face is a blank to the witnesses. Whether that was because he was masked or because their attention was held by the extraordinary actions of the extraordinary men in the back of the cart, I cannot say.’
‘That is understandable, I suppose.’
‘Of course it is! These men were standing in the back of a racing cart.’
‘How many horses pulled the cart?’
‘Porfiry, please! You want to know about the horses now!’
‘You describe the cart variously as “racing” and going “at a fair lick”. I merely wish to establish how quickly it could conceivably have been travelling. One horse or two will make a difference.’
‘But your questions are interrupting my narrative! Can you not allow me to get to the end of my account and then put your questions to me?’
‘Well, no. That is not how I like to proceed when I am conducting an interrogation.’
‘But you are not interrogating me! I am a policeman, not a criminal!’
Porfiry gave one slow blink. ‘I would be grateful if you would confirm the number of horses before continuing with your account.’
‘I don’t know! No one has remarked on the number of horses. How many horses usually pull a cart?’
‘Most usually, I would say one, although the number may be dependent on the weight of the load and the wealth of the peasant.’
‘Well then, one. That was why it was not commented on. It was not worthy of comment.’
‘I do not see how a heavy cart carrying three men and this load — effectively four men — could achieve the speeds suggested by your terminology when drawn only by one horse.’
‘Very well, it must have been two horses.’
‘But if there were two horses, would not the witnesses have remarked upon that circumstance?’
‘You may question them more carefully about the number of horses yourself. What has it to do with anything?’
‘Because if the cart was drawn by one horse, it cannot have reached such a great speed. Certainly it would not have gone so fast that your men could not have given chase.’
‘But why would they give chase? They were not in a position to interpret the meaning of the singular occurrence that took place before their eyes. They were, in a word, astonished.’
‘What was the nature of this singular occurrence?’
‘A sack was thrown from the back of a hurtling cart.’
‘The cart is hurtling now?’
‘At any rate, before they had time to comprehend what had taken place, the cart had disappeared around the corner. In the meantime, their natural instinct was to examine the sack. In which they found …’
‘The body of this man.’
‘Yes.’
‘The large wound on the right side of the head, surrounded by blackened, burnt skin and scorched hair, suggests death was caused by a gunshot to the temple, the barrel of the gun being placed against the head. This smaller wound, at the other temple, is where the bullet exited.’ Porfiry looked down at the violently disrupted flesh he had just described.
‘But you have not commented on the sign.’
The body lay on the pavement, still partially contained in the large hessian sack in which it had been deposited. Only the man’s head and shoulders had been exposed. His face was drawn, as if the fatal assault had caused him to suck his cheeks in. In truth, he appeared to be an emaciated and ravaged indvidual. His clothes were those of a workman, coarse, worn and grubby. Around his neck, a white cardboard rectangle was hung by rough twine. The following legend had been scrawled on the cardboard with a blunt pencil.
This is the child murderer what you are looking for. His name is MURIN. He confessed to a fellow. There is honour amongst thieves. This man is scum.
‘Well?’ said Nikodim Fomich.
‘He appears to have been executed.’
‘Yes.’
Porfiry, who was squatting on his haunches, worked the edge of the sack down. The man was big-framed, but undernourished so Porfiry was able to manoeuvre him without too much difficulty. Soon the man’s hands were exposed. They seemed disproportionately big, at odds with his scrawny physique, as if they had somehow been attached to the wrong arms. The fingers were chubby. The thought struck Porfiry that they had somehow been fattened on all the nourishment the rest of his body had been denied.
An inverted gold ring cinched the little finger of his left hand. Porfiry tried to rotate it on the finger but it refused to move. He turned the hand over, the touch of the cold dead skin sending a stab of revulsion to his heart.
On the face of the ring he saw the double-headed eagle of the House of Romanov.
34 The Tsar will be content
‘And so, Porfiry Petrovich, you have your murderer.’
Porfiry regarded his blue-clad visitor with astonishment. ‘I see that today you have chosen to appear before me in your gendarme’s uniform.’